


Three Short Fics about Daniel Sousa's Father

by Paeonia



Series: Quo Vadis: The Extended Edition [3]
Category: Agent Carter (TV)
Genre: Canon Disabled Character, Father-Son Relationship, Gen, Growing Up, War, World War II
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-19
Updated: 2016-06-27
Packaged: 2018-07-15 22:21:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,655
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7240792
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Paeonia/pseuds/Paeonia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For Father's Day 2016: three ficlets about Daniel Sousa and the non-canon father I invented for him in some of my other fics. Written in response to submitted prompts.</p><p>1. Father's Day, 1943<br/>2. July, 1934<br/>3. January 6, 1945</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Father's Day, 1943

**Author's Note:**

  * For [CotyCat82 (scentofnightjasmine)](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=CotyCat82+%28scentofnightjasmine%29), [Adelphia_AM](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Adelphia_AM/gifts).



 

June 20, 1943

 

Frank Sousa couldn’t help smiling a little. Even straight out of the icebox, the pie smelled so good — strawberry-rhubarb, sweet and tart and summery — and that little crunch as his knife cut through the top crust….

He cut and wrapped two slices — one for Tillie’s lunch box, one for his — and then cut a third slice and put it aside. He put the lunch boxes back in the icebox for the next morning and cleaned up. Then he poured himself a glass of milk, picked up his piece of pie, headed over to the kitchen table, and sat down.

He took the first bite and savored it. A pie like this was always a treat, but it was especially precious in these days of rationed butter and sugar, a real special-occasion food. Happy Father’s Day, indeed.

It had been a good day. He’d gone to early Mass with Tillie; afterwards, they’d had a quick breakfast and gotten in some time in the garden while it was still cool. Ines and the little ones had come over in the afternoon. It had been hellishly hot, so he’d put the sprinkler on for the kids and let them play in the water until they were tired and soaked. Later, they’d all had supper under the grape arbor, with pie for dessert. He’d horsed around with his grandchildren some more until the lightning bugs started to come out and it was time to take the children back home.

And now it was dark, and a cool breeze was coming from the southeast through the open window. Tomorrow would be a long day at work: Father’s Day was almost over.

But it wasn’t over yet. He still had his piece of pie, and he had something else to savor as well: mail from Daniel. He picked up the envelopes on the kitchen table.

None of the mail was new. Daniel had sent a Father’s Day card, but it had arrived a few weeks ago: _“Just wanted to make sure I get this sent and that it arrives on time….”_  There’d been a brief note a couple of days later; nothing since.

Of course, there’d been plenty of other times when they’d gone a while without hearing from Daniel, usually when he was in transit to some new place, or starting yet another course of training. Daniel wrote faithfully, and as soon as he was settled in and allowed to write, the letter would always come: _Guess what? They’ve sent me to…._ or _Greetings from…._

Last year’s card had been sent from Washington, D.C.. This year’s card…. probably still sent from Georgia; Daniel hadn’t said otherwise. But as Frank turned the card over in his hands, he felt an intuition deep in his bones that Daniel himself was no longer in Georgia.

Was Daniel getting ready to ship out?

Was he already on the ship?

Where were they sending him? To the Pacific? England, maybe? Or North Africa? When would he be able to tell them?

And would this have anything to do with the shallow boats they’d been turning out at the shipyard all this spring?

Frank’s heart ached with worry and pride. Daniel was a good, good boy, a smart boy, and Frank knew he wasn’t just being partial, because obviously the Army thought so too: they hadn’t just handed Daniel a rifle and sent him off to who-knows-where, they’d trained him and trained him and even sent him to officer school, with the college boys (where he belonged).

But at some point it would be time to put all that training to work. When the Army looked at Daniel, they saw a smart, diligent, capable young man, just as Frank did. But when Frank looked at Daniel, he also saw the young colleague from the shipyard. He saw the high school kid who loved milkshakes and lettered in track and field, the solemn-faced schoolboy he'd taken fishing, the curly-haired little boy tagging along after his older sisters.... The baby boy he and his wife had cuddled with such joy.

His pie forgotten for the moment, Frank closed his eyes as a wordless prayer was wrung out of his soul, begging Daniel’s protection.

He took a deep breath, opened his eyes again, and became aware that he wasn’t alone. He turned around. Tillie was standing just outside the door from the living room.

“Come on in,” he said. “I’m just having a little snack here.”

“I’m glad you liked it enough to go back for seconds,” teased Tilliie.

“There’s another piece left if you want it.”

“Oh, no. It’s your pie,” said Tillie. She poured herself a glass of water. “Did Daniel call?”

“No.”

She glanced at the clock. “There’s still time. Maybe he’s just waiting his turn in line.”

“Maybe so. He’ll call if he can.”

“Of course.” Tillie finished her water, put the glass away, and came over and hugged her father. “Good night, Papai. Happy Father’s Day.”

“Good night,  _filhinha_.”

Frank took a sip of his milk. Tillie seemed worried; did she also suspect that Daniel was getting ready to ship out? He was surprised she hadn’t taken the opening he’d given her. Maybe a couple more days and she’d be ready to talk about it.

He finished his pie. As he washed up, he felt the breeze outside pick up and change direction. It was blowing colder, and the trees were starting to rustle. It was going to rain.

 

He closed the kitchen window and went to close the back door. By the time he reached it, he could hear far-off thunder. He latched the screen door, closed the back door, and locked it, battening down against the approaching storm.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>   
>  I took a loose interpretation of this prompt from CotyCat82: "What's going on in Frank's head the first Father's Day Daniel is at war (in action)"
> 
> Filhinha = "little daughter"


	2. July, 1934

 

Frank rested his forehead on his hand as he stared at the column of figures he’d just finished. He ran the sum again in his head, but it was no good. There was nothing wrong with his arithmetic. There were simply too many numbers.

Compared to a lot of people, he had it pretty good, he reminded himself. They had a roof over their head and food on the table and shoes on their feet. They’d cut his hours severely at the shipyard, but he still had a job, and sometimes he’d even been able to pick up some side work here and there. The kids had all managed to find jobs and could help out. He’d be able to make the taxes and the mortgage and the utilities this month.

Which left everything else.

He started to sort bills and coins into his labeled envelopes. First came the immediate expenses, like BUS FARE & GAS. GROCERIES and MILKMAN: a constant concern, with three adolescents in the house. Girls weren’t quite as voracious as boys, but they still needed to eat, and then with Daniel coming up….

Daniel had already grown an inch that year, which was why the envelope that really worried Frank was the one labeled CLOTHES. He could plant extra potatoes and keep a couple more chickens and catch another fish or two, but he couldn’t grow shoes and clothes in the backyard.

He moved some money around between the different envelopes. They were all rather lean, but he still had to put something aside for the expenses looming ahead, like HEATING OIL. 

He heard soft laughter from the living room and looked up. Pete Escobar was paying a call on Ines; from his carefully positioned seat at the kitchen table, Frank could see Pete’s and Ines’s feet flat on the floor and a respectable distance from each other. He wasn’t really worried; Ines knew better, of course, and so did Pete — he liked Pete, Pete was a good kid — but sometimes it was just easier to head off certain questions before they could even be raised.

Frank turned back to his work and pulled out one of his secret envelopes, the one labeled WEDDING. He put in a nickel. If it happened, it wasn’t going to be for a while, so he had time; even pennies added up after a while, right? He put another nickel into his other secret envelope, for CHRISTMAS. Maybe this month he’d be able to leave that money in those envelopes.

The front door opened and closed: there was Tillie. “Hi, Ines. _Hiii_ , _Pete_ ….” she cooed.

Frank pressed back a smile and cleared his throat. “Tillie! How was work?”

Tillie took the hint and came into the kitchen. “Oh, it was fine. I waited on this one lady who just could not make up her mind, I think I was with her a solid half hour….” She told him a little bit more about work, and about meeting her friends afterwards.

“Where’s Daniel?” she asked.

“Still out,” replied Frank.

“Still? How long’s this party supposed to last?”

“As long as the customer’s still having fun, I suppose. He should be home soon, though, they can’t keep the younger boys that late.” Daniel was at the boat club. He’d landed some work there that summer, and tonight was his first night waiting and busing tables for a member’s party. He’d been nervous and excited about the night’s work: it was extra hours, and it was a bit of a promotion, and it was a chance to see the members in their fancy clothes and listen to a band under the stars — and it was the possibility of tips.

Tillie went upstairs and Frank finished his budgeting. He put the envelopes away and brought out the darning basket. He’d made respectable progress on the sock he was mending when he heard the creak of the garage door opening. He smiled: there was Daniel, locking his bicycle up for the night.

Frank’s smile faded as he heard the garage door close with a vehement slam. What was that about? He sat up and looked towards the back door, waiting for Daniel to come in.

Instead, he heard the front door open and shut, and Daniel hurtling up the stairs before Ines and Pete had finished saying hello.

Frank put his sock down and went out to the living room. Ines was standing at the bottom of the stairs,  staring up to the landing. “He didn’t even look at us, he just ran upstairs,” she reported.

Pete was sitting on the couch, looking confused and a little bereft. Frank would have been amused if he weren’t preoccupied. “Pete, we’ll see you tomorrow, all right?” he said.

Pete took the hint and got to his feet. “See you tomorrow, Mr. Sousa.”

Frank started up the stairs, leaving Ines to set Pete on his way. It was getting late anyway, and dealing with Daniel would be easier without an outside audience.

When he got upstairs, he found Daniel’s door closed and Tillie standing in the hall. “What’s going on?” she asked.

“Don’t know yet,” said Frank.  He knocked on the closed door. “Daniel,” he called.

Daniel opened the door, went back to his bed, sat down, and stared at his knees, his arms folded tightly around himself. Frank followed him in and closed the door. The dictionary was lying open near the foot of the bed; he moved it over so he could sit down.

He waited, gathering his own thoughts. This wasn’t like Daniel at all, and this wasn’t just temper. What had him so embarrassed that he wouldn’t speak? Had he gotten into a fight? It didn’t look like it. From the look of his hair and shirt, he’d been working hard….

He hadn’t been fired, had he? Frank’s gut lurched — he couldn’t believe Daniel would be fired for cause — unless the boss was crazy or unreasonable, Daniel was a good boy but still, he was only fourteen — what a blow it would be, Daniel had been so proud to find something —

— And if he _had_ been fired, would he be able to find anything else before school started again? Part of his mind flitted to the envelopes downstairs; Frank quickly pulled it back. No sense borrowing trouble.

He kept his voice calm.  “What’s going on?"

Daniel forced the words out: “I had to work in the kitchen.”

Frank waited.

“They told me I’d be working the tables! But instead they made me go to the kitchen.” Daniel looked up. Disappointment — and fear of disappointing — were plain on his face.

“You were really hoping for those tips, weren’t you,” said Frank.

Daniel nodded.

“Why did they pull you to the kitchen? Were they short-handed?”

“I don’t know. I was busy the whole time, but some of them kept complaining about me being underfoot.”

“Well, then, did they call too many waiters?”

“I don’t know.” Daniel glanced away.

Frank lifted his eyebrows.

Daniel’s ears reddened. “The lady… the member who was giving the party didn’t want me waiting the tables.”

“You mean… you specifically?”

Daniel nodded. “Mr. Millette said he was sorry, but it was her party and she was the boss and was right even if she was wrong. He said he didn’t want to just send me home so he had me work in the kitchen.”

“So at least he wanted to pay you for something.”

Daniel nodded again. “He tried to talk her out of it, but…”

He seemed to be shrinking at the memory, and Frank felt cold anger begin to grow in his chest. “Daniel. What happened?”

“I don’t know! I was helping set the tables, and she was walking around with Mr. Millette and she sounded like she was angry about something, and this was wrong and that was wrong — I wasn’t _trying_ to listen but I couldn’t help it, she was real worked up — and then she started on about how she was paying for an elegant party —” Daniel’s voice grew tight — “and here they had this homely little Portygee boy waiting tables….”

For a moment, Frank’s vision dissolved into a haze of red.

“…And Mr. Millette tried to calm her down but she kept carrying on, and he told me to meet him in the kitchen, and he came a couple of minutes later and that’s when he said he was sorry but he had to move me to the kitchen for the night.  

“It’s not fair!”

Frank took a deep breath.  “No. It’s not.”

“I came all that way for _nothing_! Well, maybe not _nothing_ , I’ll get paid for working in the kitchen, but….  Why did she have to be so _mean_?”

“That’s a good question. She’ll have to answer it sooner or later.” Frank thought for a moment. “Was she drunk?”

Daniel seemed a little surprised at the question. “I don’t know. She wasn’t falling over.”

Frank shrugged. “People can be drunk before they start falling over. They get mean or start talking out of their heads. Did Mr. Millette say anything later on?”

“I didn’t see him. I just clocked out when it was time and came home. I might see him tomorrow, though. What’ll I do if he fires me?”

“Did you backtalk him? or the lady?”

“No.” Daniel replied promptly and sincerely, and Frank was satisfied.

“So you went to the kitchen, and you did what you were told? And you didn’t complain? Then why would he fire you? Even if he doesn’t pull you for another party, you can still do what you’ve been doing.”

Daniel’s face eased a little. “Yeah. Nobody cares what a dock boy looks like. But still, it’s not fair. She can say whatever she wants and I just have to take it.”

“Well, not exactly.”

Daniel looked up in surprise.

“Think about it,” said Frank. “What were you there for?”

“Well, to wait the tables, of course.”

“That’s what they wanted you there for. But what were _you_ there for? You: Daniel Sousa.”

“To make money and… to see if I could do it?”

“Now, when she said that, you could have answered her back. Or when they sent you to the kitchen, you could have stomped your foot and said you wouldn’t go. But you didn’t. Why not?”

“Because I didn’t want to get fired.”

“And you can’t make money when you’re fired, right? And new jobs are hard to come by. So you made a choice. You thought keeping your job was more important than losing your temper over a mean comment.

“And as far as hard knocks go, this one isn’t so bad, right? There are people in this country who get called worse names all the time, or who do jobs that are very dangerous, or who need jobs but can’t find them. When I was your age, a place like this might not have hired me at all.

“And think of poor Mr. Millette,” Frank continued. “He had to go back out there and keep listening to that!” Daniel snickered.

“So some rude person insulted you to your face, and things didn’t work our your way, and you were still able to keep your head on your shoulders and stay in control of yourself and do what _you_ went there to do.” He patted his son’s back. “I’m proud of you, Daniel.”

Daniel smiled a little. “Thanks, Pai.”

“And besides: you know that someone who could say something like that is someone whose opinion doesn’t really matter. Right?”

“Right.”

Frank’s gaze fell on the dictionary. It lay open to HOMAGE – HOMOLOGOUS. “What’s this?” he asked.

Daniel fidgeted with his bed pillow. “Oh. At first… what she said didn’t bother me too much. I was mad about having to work in the kitchen, but like you said, I knew she was wrong, I know we’re not dumb.  But on the way home I remembered that she didn’t say stupid, she said homely. I was pretty sure I knew what it meant so I was just checking.” He looked up. “I’m not _that_ ugly, am I?”

“You’re not ugly,” Frank said automatically. His heart sank at Daniel’s unbelieving expression. “You’re not,” he insisted.

Daniel looked at him with an imploring expression: _Tell me the truth_. Frank cursed his situation and gathered his thoughts. How was he going to explain this?

When he looked at Daniel, he saw a bit of his own father, and he saw his wife, and he saw Daniel’s sisters. He saw a boy leaving boyhood and becoming a stripling — and so would most normal, generous people, Frank thought. But not that nasty shrew; all she’d seen was a boy whose legs and arms weren’t quite in proportion and whose olive face was still growing into his nose and ears, and she didn't even think about what that meant, or about that fact that even homely busboys have feelings.

“Well, first of all," said Frank, "she didn’t say ugly; she said…”

“Homely,” Daniel supplied.

Frank consulted the dictionary. “So that’s not quite ugly, right? No. So not even the stupid person who might have been drunk thought you were ugly.

“You’re getting ready to finish growing, we’ve talked about this before, right? So you’re not a little boy any more, and you’re growing into a man, and you’re not finished yet. You’re in between. Think of… say… the kitchen, in the middle of cooking Thanksgiving dinner. It’s not neat and tidy with everything put away, there’s bowls all over and onions being chopped and potatoes and people working . But then there’s nothing to eat yet, either. Most people would walk in and think, oh, this is exciting, something good is coming! But this lady walks in, and she doesn’t see the way the kitchen was before, and she doesn’t understand that people are cooking. She just sees a kitchen where nothing’s put away and she starts complaining.”

Daniel couldn’t quite keep a straight face. “So you’re saying I look like a messy kitchen.”

Frank scoffed. “I’m saying you’re not homely, that you look exactly the way you’re supposed to look, and that I’m not just saying so because I’m your dad. And I’m also saying that you should take a shower.”

“All right.” Daniel slid off the bed.

Frank’s mouth twitched. “I suppose if you wanted another opinion you could always ask your sisters….”

Daniel snorted and went to collect his bathrobe. “I’d rather be homely than frightening.” Frank chuckled and followed Daniel out of the room.

His smile faded as he watched Daniel head into the bathroom.

He knew he couldn't — and shouldn't — shelter Daniel forever. But still... this was not what he had hoped for for his son.

He shook his head and headed downstairs to lock up and finish mending his sock.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt by Adelphia_AM: "A teaching moment with young Daniel."
> 
> Frank's nickels: A nickel bought a cup of coffee or an apple from a corner vendor; two nickels bought a gallon of milk or a gallon of gas.
> 
> Portygee: slur for Portuguese. My impression is that the negative stereotype of Portuguese-Americans was that they were dull and ignorant.
> 
> "Was she drunk?": Prohibition ended in December, 1933.
> 
> * * *
> 
> I've had this scene in mind as a while as hidden background for QV. I was planning to use it if the moment presented itself. I still may. :)
> 
> Speaking of QV: One more prompt for this series, and then back to QV. I will have some RL stuff coming up during the last week of June that may hold up the next chapter a little longer.


	3. January 6, 1945

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt from an anonymous tumblr submission: "For the father's day prompts maybe? - frank sousa on his way to daniel after he arrived in atlanta [Atlantic City, I assume] for the first time?"
> 
> Or, what Frank was doing at the very end of Quo Vadis chapter 10.

January 6, 1945

  
_Taunton to Providence_

Tillie came into the kitchen and glanced at the clock. “Are you ready?”

Frank finished his coffee. “I am. Let’s get this show on the road.” He quickly washed his coffee cup and left it to drain. He put on his coat and hat, checked his pockets one last time — wallet, tickets, reading glasses, hospital letter, Red Cross letter, Rationing Board letter verifying his permission to travel — picked up his bags, and walked out into the cold dark morning. Tillie followed and locked the door behind them, and they hurried down the steps and over to the running car.

As Tillie pulled the car out, he reviewed his itinerary again: Take the train to Providence; from there, either catch the train all the way to Philadelphia or go to New York and change trains there; in Philadelphia, catch the train to Atlantic City, and then look for the Red Cross bus at the Atlantic City train station. The Red Cross bus would take him to the hospital. And if he had any questions, the Red Cross had Travelers’ Aid desks at the train stations.

He’d never been this far away from home before — not by land, and probably not by sea either. This was literally going to be the longest trip of his life.

He looked up. Tillie was pulling the car over in front of the Escobars’ two-family house. There was a brief glimpse of light around the door on Ines’s side as it opened and closed again. In the waning moonlight, he could see Ines, and then Berna and Teo Escobar, hurrying towards the car, the beam from Teo’s flashlight sweeping the walk in front of them.

Frank rolled the window down. “Ines! Get back inside, it’s cold out, what are you doing?”

She didn’t listen, of course, so he rolled up the window, opened the door, and stood up to collect a hug. “Have a safe trip, Pai,” she said. “Say hello to Daniel for me, will you?”

“Of course.” He hugged her again. “And I’ll give a complete report when I get back.” She nodded. When she finally stepped back, he felt a wrench of sympathy as he saw her lips tightly pressed together.

Berna stepped forward. “Okay, here are the rolls, and here —” she handed him a vacuum flask — “is the broth.”

“Berna —”

“It’s no trouble, and it will do him good. Tell him he must drink it all.”

“All right. If you insist.”

“I do insist.” She stepped aside, and Teo came forward.

“Have a good trip. Give our best to Daniel.”

“I will. Thanks, Teo.” They shook hands, and Frank climbed back into the car and closed the door. As Tillie pulled back out, he added the flask and the rolls to one of his bags.

They had allowed plenty of time for the trip to the train station; Tillie had to mind the blackout and the 35 mile per hour speed limit, and Frank liked to be early. He still had to stop himself from fidgeting as they crept through the dark streets.

When they reached the station, Tillie came in to wait with him for his train. She sat down next to him and pulled out her knitting needles.

“Are you sure you don’t want to let him know you’re coming? We could send a telegram,” she said.

Frank smiled. “You just like sending telegrams. No; I’m not sure when exactly I’m going to get there, so let’s keep it a surprise.” 

"If you say so. But will you please at least send a telegram to Ines once you get there? So she doesn't worry?"

"Oh, I suppose I could do that."

"Thank you." Tillie smiled smugly and started to knit. She was working on a blue square for a blanket for Daniel. 

A blanket. Frank sighed and leaned back. A blanket was probably a smart idea; he just hated the idea of Daniel being cooped up in the hospital that long.

It sliced again like a sword through his mind: Daniel had lost his leg. 

His son had lost his leg. Frank had lived with this knowledge since Christmas and it still didn't seem real. Maybe once he got down there and could see it for himself it would make more sense.

The minutes crawled by as the waiting area began to fill. A gaggle of soldiers arrived on a bus from the camp, trickling over to the benches as they bought their tickets. Frank idly wondered where they might be going: Boston or Providence on a day trip? Home on a furlough?

Did they know what was in store for them?

Finally they announced his train. Tillie stuffed her knitting needles into her bag and followed him out to the platform.

“Thanks again for the lift,” said Frank. He gave Tillie a hug. “Have a good day at work. I’ll see you tomorrow night.”

“Have a good trip. Don’t forget, let us know when you get there. And, please… tell Daniel I wish I could have come too?”

“I will.” He gave her another hug, picked up his bags, and climbed aboard the train. He was able to get a window seat on the platform side, and waved good-bye as the train pulled out of the station.

 

_Providence to New York_

The train was late pulling into Providence, but he was just able to make his connection, and once the conductor had come around and punched his ticket, Frank felt comfortable enough to lean back and take a nap.

When he woke up, he ate the breakfast he’d packed for himself and read a newspaper. It was mostly news of the battle in the Ardennes; he was too distracted to do more than skim the headlines. He was willing to bet that Daniel had been wounded in that battle, though Daniel hadn’t said anything.

Really, Daniel hadn’t said much at all about what had happened to him. In his letters, he sometimes mentioned physical therapy, but otherwise he was very bland: food good, nurses kind, roommate a good egg, doctors satisfied. He spent most of his letters asking about how things were going at home, and responding to what they’d written. Maybe it was just a pleasant change for him, a break from thinking about being in the hospital. Maybe he was enjoying being able to ask questions and get the answers so quickly, now that it took only days instead of weeks for letters to reach him.

Maybe Daniel was trying to avoid worrying them. Frank suspected that was at least part of it; it would be just like Daniel. (And just like him, he had to admit.)

Whatever it was, Frank was glad to finally be getting down there. He hoped it didn’t bother Daniel too much that he hadn’t been able to come earlier. Daniel would understand, of course, but still…. He’d heard about families that had temporarily moved to the cities where their husbands and sons were hospitalized. If only he weren’t on travel restriction….

Maybe Daniel just wasn't ready to talk about it, or even to think about it. Whenever Frank himself tried to think about it — about what Daniel might be thinking, about what this might mean to him — he didn't know where to even start. Just the shock of being injured must be overwhelming — and then was Daniel in pain?

Was he worried about his friends who were still in action? Knowing Daniel, he was probably disappointed at having to drop out when there was still work to be done; Frank hoped he wasn't too down on himself about that. Was he worried about his future? Of course he’d be able to find a nice girl as soon as he was ready; of that Frank had no doubt. But this must be a huge blow to a young man….

And then Daniel himself, the strong young man who ran, who swam, who climbed trees, who played baseball with his friends and danced with girls, who’d learned to jump out of an airplane (filling Frank with pride and indigestion)… Frank’s heart hurt for his son: there was no getting around it, things were going to be different for Daniel now.

And if Daniel didn't want to think about it yet, Frank could understand that. There would be plenty of time, and he had confidence in Daniel: he’d make it. Things would work out, they always did.

And Daniel _had_ made it, he'd made it back. And he was going to see Daniel, in just a few hours now. Even if it was in a hospital, after three years he was finally going to see his son again. He savored the knowledge as he watched the snowy miles roll by….

 

_Atlantic City_

Two train connections, one packed lunch, a bus connection, and a few hours later, Frank was on the last leg of his journey: the bus ride from the train station to the hospital.

He had never been to Atlantic City before, and any other time he would be looking out the bus windows with delighted curiosity. Today he was only looking for the first glimpse of the enormous hotel that was now a hospital. 

He saw it — the bus turned a corner and he lost sight of it behind another hotel — and then they turned another corner and pulled up in front of the hospital.

Frank picked up his bags and followed the other visitors off the bus and into the lobby. He waited his turn to stand in front of a table and get Daniel’s room number from a Red Cross volunteer. He let another volunteer shepherd him and the other visitors into the correct elevator and up to the eighth floor.

The elevator doors opened and before he could look around he heard a voice calling, “Visitors for Eight-Northeast, sign in here!” He followed the voice to another line in front of a private in green. When it was his turn he stepped forward.

“Good morning,” said the private. “Your name patient’s name please.”

“Francisco Sousa, here to see Lieutenant Daniel Sousa.” It still felt a little strange to refer to Daniel by his rank.

The private wrote in the log. “Lieutenant Sousa… 8-130A: Down the hall to your right, fourth door on the right. Thank you. Next!”

Frank found the room. The room number was correct, Daniel’s name was on the board on the wall, but the door was closed.  
Well, now what? You couldn't just go barging in to a hospital room. He looked around, wondering what to do.

A nurse in a white uniform approached. “May I help you?”

“Yes, please — I'm Lieutenant Sousa’s father here to see him, but the door’s closed, and —”

“Oh, for Lieutenant Sousa? Wonderful! I'm so glad you could come!”

“So am I. I just hope he is too, this is a surprise visit…”

“Is it? Well, I'm sure he’ll be thrilled to see you. He’s been settling in very well, making a good recovery. The door’s just closed to keep the hallway noise out so he can rest, he’s still building his strength back up and he’s a little tired today. I’m one of the ward nurses, by the way, I'm Lieutenant Munn. Before I show you in, did you have any questions about…?”

“Not really. I know about his leg.”

“Okay. Just so you know, his leg is in traction, to help it heal properly. Also, we tell all the families this — don't be surprised if he’s not quite his old self; he’s still recovering from his injury and adjusting to being back in the States.

“I was just going in to see him, so if you don't mind, give us a minute or two, and then I’ll show you in.” She smiled. “I won’t spoil the surprise, I promise.”

“Of course.”

She let herself in, leaving Frank to wait. He stared at the doorknob. He was almost there. This was not the reunion he’d expected, but he wasn't going to complain, after three years he was finally going to see his son again. Any second now….

The door opened. “Thank you,” said Lieutenant Munn. “You can come in now.”

Frank’s heart lifted. He picked up his bags and entered the room.

And there was Daniel. Some small part of Frank’s mind noted the disturbing amount of scaffolding around the bed — the big metal frame overhead, the handle dangling from a chain, the cord and pulley attached to Daniel’s — oh, dear God to his amputated leg oh his poor son what had they done to him —

— and the rest of him drank in the sight: Daniel, in gray pajamas with dark circles under his eyes; looking skinny but somehow bigger than when he’d last seen him three years ago. His Daniel.

“Pai?” 

As Daniel grabbed at the swinging handle, Frank felt his face melt into a smile. He put his bags down before he dropped them. The nurse was telling him something about where to hang his hat and coat; Frank obeyed automatically, his attention focused on Daniel, who had endured so much, who was pulling on the handle to sit up.

And then the nurse was leaving and his hands were free and at last, at last he was standing at Daniel’s bedside and pulling his son to his heart.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for the terrific prompts! I'm sorry I couldn't have used them all. I went for the ones that suggested something quickly (or were already half-written in my head) and wouldn't involve a lot of additional research. Wish I could have gotten them up sooner, but Real Life has been jealous of my time these days. (Nothing's wrong.)
> 
> Next up: Chapter 25 of QV.
> 
>  
> 
> Quick review of the Sousa-Escobar family, for those who would like it:
> 
> Ines is married to Pete, and their children are Charlie, Katie, and ~~Michael~~ Madeline. Pete's parents are Berna and Teo Escobar. Their house is a two-family house, and Ines and the kids are living in the second unit while Pete's at war. Pete's younger brother is Ritchie.
> 
> I dithered a long time about Frank's train route. It seems like he would have saved a ton of time by driving straight to Providence, Rhode Island (20 miles away); I think when I wrote Chapter 11 of QV I was thinking he'd caught a ride with someone. But then we wouldn't have gotten to have Tillie, and would he have really let her drive him to Providence with gas rationed at 3 gallons a week and the speed limit at 35 miles per hour? So I'm rationalizing it by deciding that between the increased industry and the presence of Camp Myles Standish there would have been more trains running in and out of Taunton, including a train going direct to Providence.


End file.
